


Beautiful Honeycombs.

by hotdogandgolem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bees, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdogandgolem/pseuds/hotdogandgolem
Summary: After returning from Afghanistan, John Watson comes across a very peculiar tattoo on his hand, and an even more peculiar man with a matching tattoo. You will enjoy this fic if you love Johnlock and everything it has to offer.





	1. Honeycombs and Highwaymen

**Author's Note:**

> AU with soul mates. There may be depictions of violence, there will be no rape scenes. There will be sexual scenes. Lots of this is fluff. Enjoy. 
> 
> A work in progress, we will post one to two chapters a week. Who is we? Golem and I, of course (Hi, i'm hotdog)

Chapter one: Honeycombs and Highwaymen. 12:03pm. 

 

 

     “Stop! Stop right there!” John huffed as he ran in pursuit, feet slamming against the pavement. Leaving his sister Harry behind, John runs after the man with her backpack. John’s shoulder lightly skims the corner of a building as he sharply turns to face a long alley. Running and gaining, he nearly can reach the thief. The thief pulls down a stack of crates directly in john’s path, without hesitation john leaps over the obstacle, not missing a single beat. The thief runs through traffic, leaving a harmony of screeching tires and honking horns. John runs after him still, getting called names he wouldn’t love to repeat by various drivers in the road. 

     “Sorry!” he yells without breaking pace. John wouldn’t admit this to a soul, but oh, how he missed this. The adrenaline. The chase. Danger. A few more small moments of zigzagging through alleys and he is in arm’s reach of Harry’s thief. 

     John’s shoulder comes into contact with something hard and he falls to the ground, hearing the thief run farther and farther away. He came into contact with a person, it seemed. John scrambled to his feet and looked at the peculiar man who he had bumped into. 

     “Idiot!” The man shouted. “You have ruined my research-” The strange man began to talk faster and John could tell he wasn’t finished. 

     “Sorry but I need to catch that man!” 

     “Your tattoo …” The strange man stared in complete shock and awe. John had already started to run after the thief once more, not hearing what the man had said. 

     He could still make out where the thief was, John began to sprint. He invaded Afghanistan, he shouldn’t have an issue with chasing down some common backpack stealing thief, but he was. His leg began to ache just slightly, though he elected to ignore it.  John knew that he wouldn’t catch his thief at this rate, not with that bloke interrupting him earlier. He heard footsteps running behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see that funny man running after him. 

     “Follow me if you still want to catch that thief!” The man says. John hesitates but before he can decide, the man grabs his hand and pulls him to an alley to the right, despite the thief running away in front of them. John follows the strange man as he guides him through streets, cutting this way and that with no warning. Out of nowhere, the funny man stops and puts out his leg, just then the thief trips and falls to the ground. 

     A tiny voice says “He has a gun” in the back of John’s head. Without a second thought, John tackles the thief for his gun as he starts to pull it out of his coat. 

     Gunshot. John feels the bullet as it nicks him in his thigh, though he still succeeds to pin the thief to the ground. The funny man grabs the gun and points it at the thief. 

     “Can you stand?” the strange man says, still locking his eyes on the thief. John grunts, “Yeah, thanks.” He shuffles to his feet and dials for the police and mentions being shot in the leg. About fifteen minutes later, the police arrive and take the thief into the back of their car. John instinctively covers his wound with his hand, applying pressure, trying not to make a fuss. A medic rushes over to him, “You were the one who was shot?” 

     “Hardly a scratch, but yes.” After receiving medical attention and refusing to go to the hospital, the police leave John and the funny man together in the alley. The strange man was tall and thin, he had dark brown curls of hair, strewn messily about his face and covering half of his ears. His eyes were a lighter blue and his purple bags under his eyes along with his cheekbones highlighted the color. He was intensely beautiful, now that John got to see him clearly. A nutter then, the pretty ones usually are. His thought process was interrupted by the man’s voice. 

     “Sherlock Holmes, I noticed your tattoo on the top of your right hand, it appeared one month, three weeks and two days ago.” Sherlock pulled down his left sleeve to reveal an identical tattoo that creeped beautifully up his wrist. John was at a lack for words. 

     “Honey combs. That is what the tattoo appears to be, it showed up on my hand and now I see it on you. You have been shot in the leg, let me make you tea so I can figure out the impossibility of our situation.” The nutter said calmly and quickly without breaking eye contact. After a few minutes, or what seemed to be an eternity, 

     “John Watson. Tea would be nice.”


	2. Psychic and Psychopathic.

Chapter two: Psychic and Psychopathic. 12:57pm.

 

     John sipped tea from the warm cup Sherlock had given him, he sat down the cup and looked around the messy flat. A human skull, petri dishes with mysterious contents, papers of sheet music and what seemed to be police reports? Who was this man? John mentally patted himself for guessing “nutter” correctly. Sherlock was pacing around where John sat, his eyes fluttering and intrusive, roaming every inch of John and that tattoo. Sherlock quickly went to his knees in front of John and took his hand, exploring the strange hexagonal markings.

  
     “Buy me a drink first.” John said with a hint of laughter in his voice, though mostly interest. “May I?” John gestured for Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock pulled his sleeve down again, and they both sat silently comparing the markings for a moment.

  
     “Sherlock Holmes, was it? Alright, how in the bloody hell is this possible. I haven’t ever gotten a tattoo, I didn’t get this one myself, it was just … there.” Sherlock’s brows furrowed for a moment before relaxing. Sherlock stood quickly and paced around the flat wordlessly.

  
    “Same with mine.” Sherlock muttered, though John couldn’t tell if he was talking to him or to himself. What had he gotten himself into? John thought about the dreams he had been having, the voice of a man, Sherlock’s voice.

  
     “What were you doing before the tattoo appeared? What were you thinking about, who were you talking to, everything.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he searched John, deducing little bits about him. Military doctor, psychosomatic limp, alcoholic brother, possibly?

  
     John smiled, lightly letting out a half hearted chuckle as he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I was putting a person back um, back together. He had been,” John let out a small and sharp sigh, “been um blown up, mostly. Torn to pieces. I was in-” “-Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock cut in. John hesitated.

  
     “Afghanistan.” He licked his lips and smiled only with his mouth, not his eyes, a sort of defense mechanism. “I came home just a little over two months ago, this mark appeared very shortly after. What about you, Mr. Holmes? What were you doing one month, three weeks and two days ago, then?”

  
     “Mr. Holmes is my brother, do not call me that. My name is Sherlock.” Sherlock sneered “I was working on a case, a murder where the murderer could apparently ‘fly’, but it was really just the secretary,” John looked confused. Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Your dull brain won’t understand, it’s fine, I was doing what I always do. I am a consulting detective. Now what do you think of this ‘tattoo’, John Watson?”

  
     “Just John is fine.” He sighed and stared at the delicate black ink that lay on his hand. “My mother used to tell me stories when I was little. Stories of people having the same beautiful markings. Soulmates,” Sherlock cut John off with a crude laugh, the kind that only forces air from your nostrils. John’s eyes narrowed at sherlock, then he thought of the dreams he had been having. It was happening, the laugh, John dreamt that. He was about to say, “Soulmates are not real, Just John, and if they were, I would definitely not have one.” Their voices overlapped each others as they spoke the identical words. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide for the slightest moment before narrowing again and fixating on John.

  
     “How did you say that.” Sherlock’s voice grew lower and harsher, he stood in front of John and lowered his face merely inches from the army doctor’s. John swallowed and noticed the distance between them, and the lack of it. “I heard a voice say that in a dream…” John whispered. Sherlock pounced on top of John’s lap in one swift motion and clasped his hand around John’s throat. “Get! Off .. ME!” John gasped and firmly shoved sherlock off with every bit of force he had. Sherlock fell to the floor and looked to the ground.

  
     “My brother hired you. He’s spying on me through you, that’s what this is …. That’s ..” Sherlock’s breath became unsteady but only for a moment. John glared at Sherlock. “What am I doing here?!” John stood to his feet and limped towards the door.

 

       “No. You can’t go yet, I haven’t figured out the tattoos!”

  
     “You can figure out the tattoos just fine without you having to choke me, you nutter! I can’t believe I even stayed this long. You’re obviously mentally unbalanced, I should have left an hour ago!” John huffed and realized he had no money for a cab, he left his wallet on the table where he was having brunch with Harry. He picked up his sister’s backpack and shuffled through it until he found her wallet. He’d have to just pay her back. John’s fingers touched the doorknob lightly and he paused. Soulmates? What a tragedy. His soulmate can’t be with Sherlock Holmes of all people.

  
     “Just stay.” Sherlock said to John’s back. John turned the handle, and left.


	3. Tea and Teases.

Chapter three: Tea and Teases. 3:18pm.

 

     John arrives back to Harry’s place, it’s quiet so he assumes Harry isn’t home. As he puts down his keys, John thinks of what could have happened if Harry hadn't let him stay after his return from Afghanistan. What happened to his sister? Had her divorce really unraveled her to this state? He figures it could be loneliness after Clara moved out that lead to his sisters uncharacteristic hospitality. He then decides on “depression” instead when he is greeted by the sight of Harry, strewn aimlessly on the floor, clutching a half empty bottle of bourbon.

  
     Picking up the still open bottle as he goes, John steps over Harry and throws a small blanket from the nearby loveseat over her. He heads towards the kitchen, in need of a hot cuppa not made by a total head case. Placing the now capped bottle back into his proper place in the cabinet, John grabs the silver kettle from its home on the stove. Waiting for the water to boil, he is left alone with his thoughts. Sherlock Holmes.

     What had even happened today? Honey combs? John lightly traced the hexagons on the back his hand, faintly remembering the beautiful color of Sherlock’s eyes. What? No. Not beautiful, Sherlock Holmes was a nutter and he was not beautiful. Definitely not gorgeous. John’s thoughts wandered to Afghanistan, to the man he once kissed. It only happened once. He was his friend, Everyone called the man O’Riley, though he once was close enough to him to just call him Thomas. John wondered if Thomas ever thought about him like this. Probably not, everyone knew O’Riley was a player, John wasn’t special.

  
     “No, I’m not special at all.” he muttered. The kettle hissed and John turned to noise. He picked up a rag and used it to hold the kettle’s hot, metal handle. Rag or not, it wouldn’t have mattered because John nearly spilled the boiling water everywhere. Out the window, out in the garden, Sherlock Holmes stared at him from behind a raised bed of growing tomatoes. John set down the kettle on the stove and slowly reached to open the window. Sherlock quickly walked over to the now open space between them.

  
     “Did you…” John bit his lip and glared at Sherlock for a moment. “Did you fucking stalk me all the way home, Sherlock Holmes?” Sherlock cleared his throat and his eyes darted around, just for a small moment.

  
     “I came to apologize.” Sherlock said, his eyes still cold, though by the state of his awkward body posture and the change in pitch of his voice, John could tell he was trying. John remained silent, trying to get Sherlock’s gaze to meet his own. “I’m trying to cut back on smoking. Choking you was not ideal.” Sherlock let out a puff of air, as if what he said was extremely taxing.

  
     “That was an apology?”

  
     “Yes.”

  
     “Incredible. You truly are a psychopath.”

  
     “Highly-functioning sociopath, there is a difference. Apologies are not my strong suit, as they’re for people with normal little human emotions.” Sherlock's nose turned up slightly as if he smelled something foul at the words ‘human emotions.’

  
     “Listen, if you could go stalk some other less unfortunate bloke, that would be great. I have appartments to look at, I can’t stay in my sister’s house forever.”

     “Well you could have just asked me if you wanted to be my flatmate, John.”

  
     “What … but I don’t want to be your flatmate.”

  
     “221B Baker street, 6:30, tonight. Come only if you’re interested in living with me, we could split the rent comfortably. Also, I have a feeling you’re not the kind of man to simply ‘forget’ about that tattoo we share. See you then, John.”

  
     “I never agreed to live with you!” John's voice grows impatient.Harry groans, “Oh God, my head.” John turns to look at Harry, shuffling to her feet from her spot on the floor. When he turns back around to face Sherlock, all he gets is the raised garden, empty of his arrogant, sociopathic consulting detective. What the hell was that anyways? John had never heard of anything like that before. What the bloody hell had he gotten himself into? John thought once again.

  
      “Why am I actually considering going to that loons flat? Living there?” John whispered to himself as he put his now room temperature kettle back on the stove.

  
     “What the hell was that?” Harry asked wobbling into the kitchen, massaging her temple and dragging the small blanket behind her.

  
     “Nothing, just someone I met earlier.” John leans back against the counter.

  
     “What type of someone?” Harry asks with a wink and a suggestive smirk. John scoffs and puts on the kettle again, a second attempt for tea. “Yeah well scoff away, John, but I’ve known you for forever, I can tell when you like someone.” Harry chuckles lightly as she digs through a cupboard, searching for aspirin.

  
     “I never said I liked him.” John says matter of factly.

  
     “Blush away, Johnny boy.”

     Johns cheeks flushed just a little bit more. He hates that nickname.

  
     “I’ve asked you to stop calling me that” John turned away from his sister in hopes of having her miss the blush that crept up his face. Why was he blushing about Sherlock-fucking-Holmes? God.

  
     “Do you remember those old stories that mom used to read us? The ones about the ‘Ancient Tatau’s’? She would talk of soulmates and true love, maybe you’re just finding love, Johnny.” Harry smirked and then popped some aspirin.

  
     “Yes … yes I remember.” John pulls out his phone, Harry’s old phone, and begins to type “ancient soulmate tatau.” He reads away and eventually forgets the tea for the second time today. A few articles later, he checks the time. 5:42pm. He still has time to shower and go to Baker Street.

     After a very fast shower, John grabs his coat and yells, “Harry! I’m going out! Don’t wait up!” John strides out the door and hails a cab.  
“221B Baker Street, please.”

  
     John moves his hand to knock the door knocker, but reads a note that has been placed there instead.

  
    “You forgot something.”It read. John pauses. His cane. “Idiot! Watson, how did you survive Afghanistan…” John mutters and shakes his head. Deep breath. He opens the door and steps inside. A small woman with lighter brown hair has her hand on her hip, standing at the bottom of the stairs and in the middle of yelling something up the steps. All John could make out was the end of the sentence.

  
     “-If I find one bullet hole in my wall you can find somewhere else to stay, you hear me?” The woman turns around and smiles at John. “Oh! You must be Sherlock’s new boyfriend! It’s so lovely to meet you, dear! I’m Mrs. Hudson, your landlord, not your housekeeper, mind you.”

  
     “Oh um we’re not … ” John chuckles “I’m not gay.” Mrs. Hudson looks at john a bit blankly before laughing.

     “Well there’s a second bedroom upstairs, if you need it.”

     “Yes, we need it. Nice to meet you Mrs. Hudson.” John awkwardly smiles before shuffling upstairs. He opens the door to Sherlock’s flat.

  
     “How did you know I forgot my cane?” John takes a step into the room and lightly shuts the door behind him. Sherlock stands and brings over John’s previously absent cane.  
“You have a psychosomatic limp, it wasn’t hard to find the little shop you ate at this morning. Now, I want to take you out for dinner. I’m paying.”

  
     “To dinner? What, like a date? I’m not gay, you know.” John took his cane from Sherlock’s grasp and let his fingers touch Sherlock’s, just slightly. Just for a little bit too long. John quickly busied himself with adjusting the length of the cane, even though he and Sherlock both knew perfectly well that it didn't need adjusting.

     John saw Sherlock smirk in his peripheral, then wrap a scarf around his neck and he looked up at Sherlock to see him putting the collar of his coat up. The honeycomb marking was just barely peeking out from his sleeve. John knew that this was risky but he was simply too interested. He grabbed Sherlock’s sleeve and tugged to reveal the tattoo again. Sherlock stood still and studied John’s movements and deduced his intentions, his eyes narrowing. John felt his breath pick up, but he moved closer anyways. Sherlock remained still. John held Sherlock’s wrist carefully in his hand, as if he might break it. The marking really was beautiful. Why on Sherlock Holmes though? Why on himself? The only answer John had was one he definitely did not like. He doesn’t even know this man.

  
     “Dinner?” Sherlock's voice was a bit lower than usual, though John couldn’t place why. John looked up and his nose nearly grazed Sherlock’s lip.

  
     “Fuck.” John thought to himself, “Why do his eyes look like that.” John stared up into the blue and Sherlock didn’t flinch, not even for a moment. His eyes remained hard and fixed, making the world seem small and everything around them, inconvenient. Every instinct John had was telling him to look away, to break the eye contact. He didn’t. Sherlock’s wrist was still loosely laying in John’s hands.

  
_ring ring_

  
     No one moved. John's phone was ringing, but no one decided to move away. Sherlock remained cold and still, and John suddenly realized the situation that he was in.

  
     “Are you going to answer that?” Sherlock's monotone voice, deep with a drop of delicious huskiness. His eyes were not cold anymore. Anything but cold. John cleared his throat and let Sherlock’s wrist go to answer his phone. Sherlock took a large step back, though he didn’t seem the least bit shaken. John accepted the call. It was a telemarketer.  
Hanging up the phone with a huff John turns back to look into Sherlock’s eyes.

  
     “Nothing important.” John murmured reaching to open the door, pausing when Sherlock steps in front of him opening the door. Sherlock Invites him out with the raise of his arm.

  
     “Uhh.. thanks.” John says awkwardly, moving into the hallway with a blush still bright on his cheeks. “What was that about?” John thoughts wander as he starts to move down the stairs. Did they almost kiss? Did Sherlock notice that too? John loses his thoughts as he stumbles on the steep steps. The only thing saving him from falling down the rest of the way was Sherlock’s hand grabbing his left shoulder tightly.

  
     Flinching in pain, John pulls Sherlock’s hand off his shoulder. Holding a hand over the barely healed hole in his shoulder.

  
     “Hurts” Muttered John glancing at his now throbbing wound.

  
     “Afghanistan?” Sherlock asks with interest. John only nods and continues down the stairs. Having had to explain the events leading to his new scar one too many times that week.

  
     Finally making it out to the now crowded street, John moves forward looking to hail a cab for the two of them. After about 5 minutes of trying and many low chuckles from Sherlock, John half shouts

  
     “Well why don't you get us a cab smart arse!” Earning himself a full laugh from the ever amused Sherlock. Smirking still Sherlock steps up to the busy street and a cab pulls in front of the two before Sherlock even fully raises his hand. Now even more miffed than before, John stares at Sherlock as he opens the door to the cab and climbs halfway in.  
     “Come on John, we’ve got places to be.” Sherlock says with a smile you could hear in his voice. Moving over to the far end of the backseat of the cab, Sherlock adjusts his scarf around his neck.

  
     “Bloody bastard.” John mumbles to himself, climbing to the cab next to the taller man. Definitely not noticing how Sherlock’s longer legs caused their knees to touch.

  
     “ Angelo’s on First.” Sherlock instructs the cabbie, turning to look out his window with a poorly hidden smirk across his face. John doesn’t know why he’s here, but he has nowhere else to be. Truthfully, he thinks to himself that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.


	4. Blushing and Baker Street. 7:05pm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its a bit later than expected! - Golem

     John let’s himself be guided by Sherlock to the door of Angelo’s. It’s a small and quiet place, and the atmosphere is very….. cute. A large, bearded man walks up to Sherlock as they sit,

     “Sherlock! How are you, my friend? What would you like? It’s on the house, for you and your date.” The man grins and gestures towards John.

     “Oh um he isn’t my date.” John says, less confident than he would have liked.

     “Alright there, blondie. I’ll go grab you two menu’s and a candle.” The man winked and happily walked off.

     “I suppose there’s no point in convincing anyone i’m not gay … ” John mutters to himself as he lightly touches the petal of a flower in a vase on their table. John doesn’t quite know why, but this flower is particularly beautiful, it’s dark purple, slender and delicate.

    “Beautiful flower, that is.” John and Sherlock both say quietly. John looks to Sherlock, a bit shocked.

    “I have dreams too.” Sherlock says, keeping eye contact with the purple petals.

     “Apparently so.” John’s words are lacking. He wants to say more, but he doesn’t think his mouth is functioning. Not while looking at Sherlock study that flower, at least.  
The happy bearded owner comes back with menu’s and promptly plops a small candle next to the flower. It’s heat licks a leaf that has grown off of the long stem. John lightly moved the candle over just an inch so the flower isn’t under any stress. The owner turns and walks off to the opposite end of the restaurant. John knows exactly what he wants to say. Breathe. He fought in war, he can ask Sherlock Holmes a simple question. No problem. Why hasn’t he asked yet? John has tried commanding his mouth to speak, but his body is betraying him. Breathe.

     “Why did you almost kiss me?” John blurts. Sherlock’s eyes widen and dart to meet John’s. The brunettes mouth opens as if to say something, but quickly shuts.

     “I didn’t. I was experimenting.” Sherlock finally manages to speak, an entire half second longer than what it should have taken him.

     “Experimenting?” John’s brows furrow and he leans in just a little, a bit of annoyance bubbling to the surface.  
     “Yes.”  
     “Yes … and what was it that you were um, testing?”  
     “A hypothesis.”  
     “Which was?”  
     “Your sexuality.”

      John’s eyes widen for a small moment before he forces them to return to their normal size. He prays that Sherlock doesn’t notice. The look on Sherlock’s face signifies that there is no point in prayer around him. A blush heats John’s cheeks. Sherlock takes John’s hand and looks over the markings again, definitely not helping John’s blushing. Sherlock either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

     “I have to figure out what this means.” Sherlock’s voice gets quieter, “I have to.”

     “I am sure we will figure this out, Sherlock … ” John’s voice was calming, which initially relaxed Sherlock, but then only made him fidget. John seemed pleasantly surprised at the fact that Sherlock squirmed a bit.

     “I wonder if I can make him blush.” John’s smile creeped up his face just as the thought crept through his mind. Oh, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of how to do that.

     “Are you a virgin.” John calmly asks as if he’s commenting about the weather. Sherlock freezes and John witnesses the massive derailment that he has just caused.

     “I beg your pardon?” Mission accomplished, Sherlock Holmes can definitely blush. Even if it is more under control than what John can manage. John chuckles to himself and bites his lip.

     “Sorry, just an experiment.” John sees Sherlock’s lip twist into an uncontrollable smile.

     “You are the one performing experiments, now? Funny. May I ask the goal of the experiment?”  
     “I wanted to see if you could blush. You can.”  
     “On the contrary, your little ‘experiment’ failed. I did not blush.”

     “Oh, you liar! Your cheek flushes pink over those cheekbones-” John stopped himself a bit short before he finished the sentence. He could feel Sherlock smirk from across the table.  
      “So did yours.” Sherlock says so like he’s just discovered John’s most valued secret.

                              ~After a few drinks, a meal, and a few conversations later, Angelo comes over to politely inform them that it is closing time.~

     John warily steps out of his chair and puts on his coat, he wasn’t drunk but he wasn’t sober either. Where will he go now? Sherlock’s? God, no. Harry’s, he supposes. He doesn’t want to but he has nowhere else to go. Sherlock seems to be in a similar state that John is in.

     “Come home with me.” Sherlock leans and whispers to John as they stand on the sidewalk, just outside Angelo’s. John feels himself become full of shock, confusion, and then anger. Did he really just ask that of him? John shoves Sherlock hard on the shoulder, causing him to stagger a step and a half backwards. Leaving now, then. John thinks to himself, letting his anger sink into him. All this just to get in bed.

     “You … you need your cane though.”  
     “ … what?”  
     “You left your cane in my flat, I assume you need it?”  
     “Oh. Oh. That’s what you meant? My cane?”

     “What else would I mean, John?” Sherlock’s smirk tells what else he could mean. John scoffs and shakes his head with a smile.

     Sherlock does his magic with hailing a cab for the second time that day, and they both sit in silence on their way to Baker Street. As soon as the cab comes to a stop, Sherlock flies out of the cab. John pays for the ride. He slowly gets out and watches Sherlock fumble with the keys to open 221B. John’s shoulder aches along with his leg, and he sharply inhales as he steps onto the sidewalk. His leg wound from earlier today has just reopened. He’ll tend to it once he’s back at Harry’s place. Sherlock already ran upstairs and left the front door wide open. John smiles faintly and limps to the door. Shutting it behind him, he then assesses the stairs.

      “One step at a time … .” John chuckles to himself at the bad joke. He makes it up the stairs and finds Sherlock rummaging through stacks of papers, scribbling furiously onto different ones. John decides to knock. Two knocks with the back of his knuckles should do it. Sherlock looks up, his eyes scanning every bit of John.

     “You’re bleeding. Under the sink in the bathroom there’s bandages, help yourself.” The brunette dips his head back into whatever the hell he was doing earlier.  
     “Right, thank you.” John nods slightly and realizes he doesn’t know where the bathroom is.

     “Down the hall.” Sherlock gestures to the direction. He continues, “Oh and um, that.” and nods towards where John’s cane leans against a wall. John picks up his cane and heads towards the bathroom. He opens the door and looks around. He opens the cabinets below and finds a random assortment of poisons and harmful chemicals. Carefully moving past those, his hand reaches to a small, red little first aid pack. Bandages. He removes his pants and cleans the dressings that the medic applied earlier. Drenched in dark blood, he threw out the old rags and cleaned the wound. He was used to this, it hurt but he took it. A bit later, his wound was clean and redressed. He put his trousers back on and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, not bad, but tired.

     Making sure the bathroom was clean from any blood, he leaned on his well needed cane and closed the door behind him. He had gotten through today without his cane, but he wouldn’t try it again.

     “You can sleep upstairs. Bring your things tomorrow.” Sherlock said from his new stance, peering into a microscope  
.  
     “Pardon?” John stood and faced Sherlock then licked his lips. John’s face twitched into a smile, his eyes questioning.  
     “Upstairs, the other bedroom.”  
     “I never agreed to live here.”  
     “Yes you did. You came by today.”  
     “Yes, but-”

     “-But, nothing.” Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope, his eyes piercing into Johns. For a moment, they both just stood there staring at each other.

     “What is stopping you, John Watson.” Sherlock asked John, but with no hint of a question in his voice. “What is stopping me?” John thought to himself. Nothing. Nothing but his own distrust of the situation.

     “Alright. Upstairs then.” John said hesitantly. It isn’t that late, but John figures he should head to bed anyways. What will he sleep in? His pants, then. Just for tonight.

     “Goodnight.” John says to Sherlock and his microscope.

     “Mm.” Sherlock turns the fine adjustment knob.

     “Alright then. See you in the morning.” John says, mostly to himself in light of Sherlock’s undivided attention to his slides. John heads upstairs and opens what must be his new bedroom. A bed with two pillows and a blanket, a tall dresser and by the foot of the bed, a pair of pajama bottoms, a tee shirt and a tooth brush. Sherlock had known he would say yes, then. That’s settling. The blonde walks over to where Sherlock had left him pajamas. He cautiously picked up the black tee shirt and smells it. It smelled of the tiniest bit of mint and honey.

     “I wanna smell that good.” He mutters to himself. John slips on the tee shirt, a tiny bit tighter than what he was used to, longer too. The pajama pants were loose and bunched around his ankles. Silk and dark blue. John decided he may as well brush his teeth, then.

     He walked back downstairs and caught Sherlock’s gaze. He was laying on the couch, but his head was raised enough for him to look around. Sherlock studied John for a moment, and then another moment, and another.

     “Thanks for the pajamas.” John tried to express his appreciation. Sherlock’s face twisted and then went still. His eyes went to the ceiling.  
     “Would you be bothered if I played the violin?”  
     “You play?”  
     “Obviously.”

     Sherlock didn’t expect John to thank him for the pajamas, his intentions were clear, ‘show off the fact that, yes, he knows John would stay.’ Sherlock also didn’t expect to enjoy the sight of his new army doctor wearing his clothes. John hurried himself to the bathroom. Breathe. He brushed his teeth and cleaned his face. Without looking to Sherlock, he walked out of the bathroom, the wooden floors creaking softly. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him.

     Up the stairs he went, straight to bed. Yes. Bed. That is what he will do. John was wide awake. He turned off all his lights and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. Just as he thought he was drifting, he hears the sound of the violin. Was that truly Sherlock playing? It was soothing, though, he had to admit. The song was slow and sad. Maybe Sherlock was sad, through all his madness, maybe he was just sad. John felt himself sink into the mattress and let his body take over, let his mind empty and let his breath become slowed.


	5. Announcement.

Hello, we're so sorry that we didn't post chapter 5 today! Thing's have been so busy in our lives but the chapter is very close to being completed. We both are amazed at the kudos and hits and we love your support. Thank you all, and yes we will be posting more chapters very soon. - Love Hotdog and Golem.


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